Martin Poole By Dai Griffiths
Published 22:40 on 21 Sep 2022
Martin Poole or "Don't call me Shirley".
It's not until someone is gone that you realise how much of the past 30 plus years have been intertwined in their life and yours. It hit me the other day, when our Amy sent me a text to ask when Uncle Martin's funeral was. Not Martin, but "Uncle Martin".
Of course whilst our kids grew up at the club as teenagers Martin and Dorothy were like relatives. Kay and Dorothy were great chums with the same carefree sense of humour, and as I took on various roles at the club, there were two things that every Sailing Sec, Instructor, Cadet Officer or Club Week organiser needs at HBSC and that is a Martin and a Bill.I was Sailing Sec on two separate occasions and I got through it knowing that these two guys had my back.
Bill knew everything, and if he didn't he gave a very good impersonation of someone who did. Martin was the ever reliant Fireman, Squaddie, Officer, who did everything by the book. The reason Martin and I got on so well was he did it by the book and I flew by the seat of my pants. Opposite attracts. We were like "Last of the Summer Wine". Cleggy, Foggy and of course me as Compo.
Whilst I was Sailing Sec I needed someone to overall the boat shed and make sure that all the Anchors and wraps were spliced, in perfect order and more importantly in the right place. Now someone who has spent his adult life in the army and then the fire service, taking orders and giving them Martin certainly fitted the bill.
Not only that but Martin could never put cups away in the cupboard unless all the handles were facing in the same direction. To wind him up I would sometimes nudge the odd picture hanging on the wall in his house so that it was no longer perpendicular and at a slight tilt. He would notice it straight away and say "Hey Boyo, up to your old tricks again".
To help him with the boat shed he soon took a young Jim Ledger under his wing and Jim and Martin got on like a house on fire, "Excuse the pun",with both of them being firemen. I never had to worry about any of the on water safety procedures whilst these two guys were in charge. Later the team expanded to Doug and Allan.
Everything at the club seemed perfect in those days, we had a young family growing up sailing and playing in the water for most of the year. Martin had bought his Dart Fifteen and joined a fleet of about twenty boats at one time. If you didn't sail a Cat you weren't really a proper sailor. Mark Sanders was pretty good at getting these guys to go to all the local cat events and there was a real sense of camaraderie. One day Arthur Blake was launching his Dart off the slipway before the race, when he stumbled, the boat sailed away and Arthur had to swim after it. Martin turned to me and said "That 's the best start he has ever made at this club".
Things went pair shaped when Dorothy was diagnosed with cancer. Martin was bereft and spent every minute trawling the internet for the magic cure.Dorothy being a nurse knew exactly what to expect. Before she died, she asked Kay, Cathy Mansell and myself to promise to find him a new wife, because in her own words,"He will become a cantankerous old bugger left to his own devices".Well, we failed miserably, as there could only ever be one Dorothy.
The Pooles were now a one parent family and like everything else he did, he was going to make a good job of it, being the best dad and granddad to those he loved. He worked meticulously at getting everything computerised at GCHQ up in his back bedroom. The house was kept spotlessly clean, he became the clubs cameraman taking photos of Club Week and other events which he would splice together on his IMac. He was not a natural on the computer and Dave and Simon his son's deserve medals for sorting out his computer on numerous occasions. One thing you can be sure of, all the files will be saved in an orderly fashion.
As his competitive sailing days came to an end he spent more time out in the safety boats.
Martin was the most gentle of men, but he didn't suffer fools gladly. Being a life long "Daily Mail" reader, (Bill and I failed to ween him off this without much success).
There had becomea preponderance of graffiti appearing on the concrete walls on the seafront. Now Martin came up with a great suggestion to stop the little buggers desecrating his beloved sea shore.If caught spraying graffiti then they should have the tip of their index finger amputated so that any more attempts would become down right painful.If they still persisted then you would remove their thumbs meaning that they could no longer hold a can. At this point I said :Martin, surely you can not be serious:. To which he replied, " I am serious and don't call me Shirley".With his chisled good looks when younger he did have a likeness to Leslie Nielsen of Naked Gun Fame, and this became a long standing joke.
Martin's later years have been blighted by ill health with his heart problem stopping him doing so much that he loved, but he would rarely miss a Sunday afternoon out on the sundeck with his old mate Bill Phillips, pint in hand telling of how they would have tacked on the last wind shift or made better use of the tide. It is so much easier sailing a race from the sundeck. He still sent out all his e-cards at Christmas and birthdays and always sent me a reminder that it was Kays Birthday or our wedding anniversary coming up.
So RIP Cleggy, from Foggy and Compo.
AND DONT CALL HIM SHIRLEY.
Last updated 07:04 on 19 August 2024